


Cat Whisperer

by ohwise1ne



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben's cat is an asshole, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, coping with loss, the cat au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwise1ne/pseuds/ohwise1ne
Summary: Ben inherits a cat that seems hell-bent on ruining his life. His friends hire an expert to make the cat a little less grumpy.Along the way, she might make Ben a little less grumpy too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KyloTrashForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/gifts).



> For the only person who loves cats and reylo as much as I do, the other half of my trash heart.  
> I am so extra for you that you get two Valentine's Day fics this year.

For the third time in a week, Ben finds himself waging a dangerous and protracted battle in his kitchen.

On Monday, he’d left his glass of freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice on the counter for all of two seconds before it was splattered across the floor in a mess of pulpy glass. The ambush had transformed his sparkling white granite tile into the sort of early-morning murder scene that his clients have had _nothing_ to do with – _no further comment at this time thank you very much._

On Tuesday, Ben had cracked opened no less than five different flavors of grain-free cat food – without a single bit of interest from his new companion. Nothing. Not even a sniff. Ben likes to get to court early, but by the time he’d arrived yesterday, the security line had been so long it wrapped around two hallways – even the one for the attorneys.

But Wednesday morning… Ben quickly realizes that this morning is even worse than the previous two combined. Because this morning, the damn cat has decided to make itself comfortable right on top of his keys.

And Ben can’t for the life of him figure out how to make it move.

“Here, kitty.” He is not sure how normal people talk to these demon-creatures, but he imagines it’s something like that. Lilting. Small words. Like speaking to a small and stupid child.

The cat only stares at him.

“Let’s go.” Ben waves his hands in the universal gesture for _get the fuck off my car keys before you make me late for work._ “No cats on the counter.”

The cat clearly does not give a shit where it is or isn’t allowed to be.

“You’re punishing me. Is that it? Because you don’t like the food.” He stoops over and picks up a small plate, nearly overflowing with this morning’s five flavors of cat chow. “I spent sixty dollars on this. All-natural. Grain-free. It can’t be that bad.”

In a stroke of desperation, he lifts the dish to his own nose, giving a dramatic sniff. His nostrils fill with the terrible odor of fish. He tries not to gag. “See?” Holding it outward, he gives it a little shake. “Not so bad.”

Ben dearly hopes it looks more enticing to the cat than it does to him.

It turns out that this is the one matter upon which they are in agreement. The creature only yawns, exposing its pointy canines, before turning its attention back to the car keys tucked beneath its belly. Jangling them.

All right then. Maybe it wants to play a game. Looking frantically around the room, Ben grabs the first thing he sees – an orange from the fruit bowl. He waves it in the air. “Look! An _orange._ Where’s it going to go?”

He tosses the fruit across the room.

With extreme disinterest, the cat watches it roll along the floor and into the hall.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ben glowers at the cat, who glowers back. “Fetch. It’s fetch. Everyone knows how to play fetch. Didn’t Han teach you anything?”

His patience is wearing thin. Ben begins to pace. He is standing here in his suit, throwing fruit across his kitchen and making himself increasingly late for work. All because the cat won’t get off his damn keys. This wretched creature seems _determined_ to do whatever it can to make Ben’s life as difficult as it possibly –

A brilliant idea streaks across his consciousness. Ben flies to the fridge, pulls out the container of pomegranate seeds he had carefully extracted from his farmer’s market finds that weekend and dumps them into his blender. It gives him a sort of vicious satisfaction to watch the juice splatter and spray all over the sides of the glass.

“Mmm,” Ben says loudly, as he pours the juice into a cup. “Sure can’t wait to drink this. It’ll be the best part of my day.”

Carefully, he places the glass on the very edge of the counter, across the room from the cat’s location on top of his keys. With comically exaggerated movements, Ben walks out into the hall before turning the corner to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

When a full minute passes in utter silence, Ben peers around the wall to find the thing right where he left it. Except now, its back leg is waggling high in the air while the creature licks its own asshole.

Swearing, Ben sweeps across the kitchen. “This is _my_ house,” he seethes. “You are a _guest_ here. You will eat my food, and play fetch with my oranges, and get off my goddamn – _fuck!”_

Ben is reaching for the keys, located right beneath the beast’s furry abdomen, when the thing _contracts_ around his hand. Pain sears up his arm, and Ben gives a very undignified yowl as he stumbles backward, blood streaming down his wrist. He feels – shocked. Betrayed. _Furious._ And… a little frightened, maybe. If Ben is being honest with himself.

The cat graces him with another long look of boredom before it bends to continue its bath.

 _“Fine.”_ Ben grabs his glass of juice, downs it in three gulps – no sugar, so the taste makes his tongue pucker – and slams it back on the counter. “Enjoy your shitty cat chow. I’ll call a damn cab.”

Ben spends the rest of the day in such a haze of fury that he doesn’t notice the way Poe Dameron’s eyes linger on the scratches marring his hand, or the whispered discussion that follows in the breakroom afterward.

* * *

“You hired a _what?”_

It is Friday. The end of the longest week of Ben’s entire life. Thursday and Friday mornings have been filled with equal amounts of one-sided shouting matches (on Ben’s part) and passive-aggressive butthole cleaning (on the part of the tiny sharp-clawed terrorist that is slowly ruining Ben’s life).

It has driven him to drink. Against his better judgment, Ben has agreed to go out with his most insufferable co-worker and his slightly more tolerable husband. Which is how he has unexpectedly found himself on the receiving end of their pitying nods, their fake noises of sympathy – and now, their entirely unwelcome offer of assistance.

“Is that some kind of prostitute?”

“Of course not,” Finn scoffs, at the same time that Poe says: “That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” This earns him a solid smack on the arm from his husband.

“She’s a cat whisperer.” Finn leans across the table, very serious. “Someone who works with cats. You know. To help with your little problem.”

Ben stiffens. “I don’t have a problem.”

Both men look pointedly at his hands, which are sporting several new battle scars in addition to the damage done Wednesday. Ben curls them around his beer mug and takes a bitter swig. His co-workers don’t even know about the mess the beast made of his foot last night while Ben had been changing the sheets.

“Have you ever had a cat before?” Finn’s expression is once again approaching something too close to pity.

“There’s a restaurant downtown where I might have.”

Poe makes a face. “That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. Why do we hang out with you?”

“You don’t,” Ben says flatly. “This is the second time. You are already making me regret it.”

“She’s a friend of mine,” Finn continues. “She does this professionally, but she gave me a good rate to help you out.”

“I already told you,” Ben says, through gritted teeth. “I don’t _need_ help.”

“It’s weird.” Poe is contemplating him from across the booth. “I definitely would have pegged you for a cat guy. Introverted. Rude. Little to no sense of humor.”

This is turning out to be just as unpleasant as the fur-filled apartment Ben had been hoping to avoid. He throws back his beer, drains the entire glass, and pushes his chair from the table. “A pleasure as usual, Dameron.”

“Wait!” Finn clatters to his feet, pressing a business card into his hands. “She’ll be by tomorrow morning. Here’s her number if –”

“No.”

“But I already paid for –”

“I don’t give a shit,” Ben snaps, temper flaring with the alcohol. “Send your crackpot friend to whisper to someone else.”

As he storms to his car, Ben tosses the business card behind him without a single glance. He doesn’t think of it again until much later, when he is stretched out uncomfortably across his couch cushions (he has not yet made a second attempt to dress his bed).

Finn had mentioned something about tomorrow morning. Ben sits straight up on the couch. The _bastard._ He had set up an appointment without even asking Ben’s permission.

And now Ben doesn’t even have the damn card to call and cancel.

He is about to ring Dameron, even though the clock is approaching two a.m., when he realizes that Dameron doesn’t have his address. Perhaps… perhaps he misheard. Yes. That was it. Finn had been handing him the card so that _Ben_ could make the appointment.

He lies back against the couch. Closes his eyes.

Ben has never needed anyone’s help. He’s not about to let this asshole of a cat change that.

* * *

He is meticulously scooping out the seeds of his third pomegranate when the doorbell rings.

Ben frowns. His grocery delivery is not supposed to be here until one. Perhaps they have the wrong door. He continues with his weekend ritual, his brow furrowed, before he is interrupted once again by a sharp rapping on the door.

With an angry sigh, Ben pushes away from his counter and strides down the hall. Where do people get off, going around and ringing doorbells at nine in the fucking morning? He throws his front door open, ready to give this asshole a piece of his mind –

And is momentarily stunned when he finds a young woman on his doorstep instead.

She is – an extraordinarily pretty young woman. At least several years his junior. Slender. She is tilting her chin to look up at him, but she is taller than average. He wouldn’t even need to bend down too far in order to –

“You must be Ben.” She treats him to a warm smile, and he remembers abruptly that she is both far too young and lovely for him – and that she is probably here to sell him something.

“Wrong apartment.” He grasps the door to close it, but she stops it with her foot. Nervy little thing.

“But… this is 514, isn’t it?” She’s British, he realizes. A tiny wrinkle creases her brow. Ben finds himself struck momentarily stupid by the sight of it.

“… Yes.”

“And there’s a cat here?”

At once, Ben knows who she is. He expects to feel anger – he can’t _believe_ the boldness of Dameron, handing out his address to strangers. How does he even know where Ben lives? But instead, he just feels vaguely… confused. Ben is a good judge of character, and this woman is clearly no charlatan. How could someone like her be cheating people out of their money for something so preposterous as _whispering to cats?_

“Are you sure you’re not Ben? My friend said you’d be…” Her eyes flicker across his body. “Very tall.”

Ben is certain he’s imagining the hint of pink that dusts her cheeks. “Or perhaps you are very short.”

This confuses her. She opens her mouth and closes it – before it blossoms into another brilliant smile. “He also said you’d have a lousy sense of humor.”

“Of course he did.” Ben feels a twinge of irritation. He wonders what other charming details Dameron’s husband had shared with her.

“So you _are_ Ben.” She needs to stop doing that. Smiling. Like she’s actually happy to be standing here at nine in the morning on a Saturday, talking to someone like him. It’s disconcerting. And it’s making him behave like a fool – like when he didn’t close the door in her face as soon as he opened it. And also now, when he steps out of her way as she brushes smoothly past him. Like he is welcoming her inside.

“I might be.”

“And you do have a cat.”

Ben feels his jaw twitch. He needs to put a stop to this before it goes any further. “I don’t know what your friend told you, but he is sorely mistaken. I do not have a cat. I _hate_ cats.”

“Mhmm.” She is looking around the hallway. Her eyes immediately find the leg of the entry table, which has been shredded to bits by the little fur-devil in the past week. “And that’s why I’m here. So you don’t hate your cat anymore.”

“I don’t _have_ a cat.” His words are clipped with growing impatience. “There is nothing I despise more than cats, and I would never let one through the door of this apartment without –”

And of course – _of course_ – as if it knows this is precisely the worst moment to make an appearance, the beast comes strutting out of the kitchen. The very picture of innocence. Ben watches with utter shock as the girl squats down and reaches out, slowly, with a fist.

“Be careful,” he blurts out. But the damn cat isn’t done making him look like a fool. It walks directly up to her, sniffs her closed hand, and then gives a long, affectionate rub against her knuckles.

She looks up at him, her expression almost sly. “You were saying?”

“The thing is a monster.” Ben feels tremendously stupid before he even finishes speaking, since the creature is continuing to nuzzle against her. “And it doesn’t belong to me. It’s here completely against my will.”

“What’s his name?”

Ben scowls. He’s never understood the point of naming animals. It humanizes them, fools you into thinking they are anything more than treacherous little beasts lurking under your bed, waiting to ambush you while you’re just trying to change your sheets.

He opens his mouth to tell her this, and hears himself say, “Chewie.”

“Well, hello there, Chewie.” She is practically purring herself. Gradually, her fingers extend from their fist so that she can pet the cat’s ugly little face. And the bastard is simply _letting_ her. “It’s very nice to meet you.” It’s a bit disturbing, how sappy she is with this animal that’s been terrorizing him for the past week. Revolting, really. Ben feels as though he should dislike her on principle, for fraternizing so closely with the enemy.

“And what about you?” he says instead.

“Hm?” She looks up, half-smiling, as though she’d forgotten his presence. Ben tries to look disgusted.

“Your name.”

“Finn didn’t tell you?” Her smile grows wider, and Ben – something tells him he’s not doing this very well. Looking disgusted.

“No.”

“How rude of me. I’m Rey.” She rises to her feet and holds out her hand – without even brushing it off, after she’s been stroking that mangy thing for the past several minutes. Ben is revolted by the whole thing. He really is.

He is shaking her hand anyway.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ben.” Her smile turns shy, then. “Even nicer than meeting Chewie.”

He turns these words over in his head for the rest of the morning, long after she has tricked him into setting up another visit – _Finn’s already arranged everything, I insist_ – and left him standing stupidly in his hallway. Staring at the door.

He doesn’t yell at the damn cat for the rest of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

The following weekend, Ben finds himself sitting on his living room floor across from the only woman he’s ever had in his apartment. Watching her coo over the bane of his existence.

Ben doesn’t remember the last time he sat on the floor. Kindergarten, maybe. Floors, he believes, are strictly for dirt, children and animals. Especially animals as depraved as this one.

And yet, here he is. Sitting on the damn floor. His large legs are folded awkwardly to mimic her effortless cross-legged posture directly beside him. She could probably look just as graceful sitting at the top of a dumpster. 

“It doesn’t always act like this,” Ben grumbles, when the cat approaches her for the third time.

“Chewie isn’t an  _ it.” _ Rey scratches behind the furry ears, and the cat  _ preens.  _ “He is a  _ he _ . You know, I’ve never heard you call him by his name.”

This would be an excellent opportunity for Ben to share his thoughts on the anthropomorphism of animals and their place in the food chain. “Trust me. It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Why don’t you try it out?”

“Are you suggesting that I  _ talk _ to it?”

“To  _ him. _ Call him his name.”

“It’s a cat. It doesn’t have the mental capacity to process speech.”

“You might be the most difficult client I've ever had. And most of my clients bite when you greet them.”

“I thought I'd save the biting for the third visit.”

There’s that color again, spreading across her cheeks. Ben is starting to think it's not a trick of the light after all. It's a little cruel, teasing her this way. She is too young. Sweet and soft in all the ways he is hard and prickly. She has smiled more times in this brief conversation than Ben has in the past twelve months. 

She is smiling again now, a shy, secretive twist of her lips. Ben decides he was never a very kind man anyway.

“Just give it a try.”

“Chewie.” The word feels like something poisonous on his tongue.

“Not like that.” The cat arches into Rey’s hand as she strokes its back. “Like you're happy to see him. Watch.  _ Hello _ , Chewie.”

This is – absurd. A waste of both their time. He can't believe he has invited her back into his home (Ben doesn't invite  _ anyone  _ into his home) so that she can make him sit on the floor and demand that he call the cat by his father’s ridiculous pet name. Even if she is… charming. He can't imagine why anyone would pay her money to do this.

But he is already sitting on his living room floor with a stranger. He supposes talking to an uncomprehending animal can’t hurt. A deep frown wrinkles his face as he tries to mimic her tone. “Hello… Chewie.”

“See?” Rey grins at him like he’s done something much more significant than speak to a damn cat. “That wasn't so hard.” 

“Easy for you to say.”

“Let’s talk about how to approach him now.”

She is still stroking the cat. It is unreasonably distracting. “I don't want to approach him.”

“These are the first steps to building trust between you.”

“I’m not the one that can't be trusted.”

“Trust is a two-way street, Ben. You need to give a little to get some back.” 

He isn't the least bit interested in earning this creature’s trust, but he wants to make her happy. “If you say so.”

“You have to make yourself less threatening, if you want to approach him.”

“You find me threatening?”

Her eyes widen. “I – no, of course not. I just meant that you’re so – large. I mean, tall. I mean…”

No. He isn’t a kind man. Because he definitely enjoys the way that rosy blush spreads slowly across her freckles. “I will make myself less tall then.”

“You’re being deliberately difficult, aren’t you.” The look that she gives him – it makes Ben feels like he’s been caught out. “I’m talking about your hand. Look. You start by closing it. Like this.” 

This is all the warning he gets before she is suddenly touching him. 

One moment, he is sitting there, untouched – and the next, she is pulling his arm to her lap and folding his fingers into a fist. It is a completely innocent gesture. Professional, even. Yet Ben feels every place where her fingertips meet his skin like they are teasing new nerves to the surface, hyper-sensitive and raw. 

“Now hold it out steady for him.”

His brain is still stuck somewhere a few minutes back. Before she grabbed his hand. “What?”

“Like  _ this.” _ She tugs on his wrist again, which doesn’t help him get any closer to figuring out what’s going on. This is likely the only reason he remains so pliant as she extends his arm, guiding his fist like a fleshy offering for his tormentor.

To his disbelief – and not inconsiderable terror – the cat takes a few steps toward him. He waits for the inevitable flash of pain as the cat sinks its teeth into his knuckles, but it never comes. It only sniffs him. Reluctantly. As though it doesn't like what it's smelling. Ben wants to pull away – but that would also mean pulling away from her fingers, such a warm and gentle pressure around his wrist.

“Learning to live with cats,” Rey explains, “is about learning to speak their language. When you approach a cat with your fingers outstretched –” she slips her fingers along his, coaxing them open – “it looks to them like you’re extending your claws.”

It takes Ben a moment to realize she’s waiting for him to answer. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Claws.”

“How did Chewie come into your life, Ben?”

He frowns. That is a comically gentle way to describe the manner in which  _ Chewie _ has come tearing through his apartment. And his box of band-aids. 

“He was my father's cat. Then he was my mother's." A pause. "And now he is mine."

These words dangle in the air for a few long moments. He waits for the forced sympathy. The insincere condolences. Or, even worse – the questions.

Instead, she squeezes his hand. "It sounds like this has been an enormous time of change. For Chewie."

Ben swallows. "Doesn't mean he needs to be such a feral little asshole."

"Hey. You said  _ he.” _ Rey’s smile makes him temporarily forget the unpleasantness of the last few moments. "We're making progress."

* * *

Ben has always been a creature of habit.

He wakes and falls asleep at the same time. He has packed the same lunch (chopped spinach salad, walnuts, feta cheese, a single Macintosh apple) every day for most of his adult life. He keeps three separate planners, all of them color-coded and cross-referencing. He feels safest living within the boxes of his calendar. Where things can stay under control.

Lately, things have been – decidedly outside of his control. This is mostly because of Chewie, who has taken every opportunity to wreak havoc upon his household since he took residence here a few weeks ago. 

But it is also because of Rey.

Every weekend since he’s moved here, Ben has spent each Saturday morning at the Waverly Park farmer’s market, where he picks up his weekly supply of spinach, apples and pomegranates. Rain or shine, Ben is always there as soon as the clock strikes seven. It is a ritual he has, one of many that gives him a deep sense of purpose and security. 

This will be the second weekend that Ben has not gone to the farmer’s market. 

When he opens the door to find Rey beaming up at him, he wonders if rituals can change.

“I’ve brought some surprises.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

Rey breezes past him into the apartment like she’s been here a hundred times before. “They’re not for you.”

“Then I’ll like them even less.”

“Don’t be such a grump.” She leads him into the living room like it’s  _ her _ living room. It makes him a little uncomfortable. He should be the one bringing her around. Presenting her with surprises. It occurs to him that he might offer her a drink when she unzips her bag and empties its contents on the floor.

Ben frowns. “Chewie is a cat. Not a toddler.” 

He’s taken to calling the thing  _ Chewie _ in front of her, just for the way it makes her smile. “Cats need to play too.”

“He spends the entire day playing. With my dishes. My carpet. My table…”

“Of course he does. He doesn’t have any toys.”

“What do animals need toys for?”

Rey gives him a bewildered look as she spreads out a colorful collection of feathers and plastic across his carpet. “Haven’t you ever had a pet?”

“I hate animals.”

“No one hates animals.”

“It’s inevitable. Darwin’s Law. We didn't win the game of evolution to submit to the whims of an inferior species.”

“Are you always this pretentious?” Rey straightens, putting her hands on her hips. It’s endearing. “No one hates every single animal.”

“Congratulations, then. You’ve met the very first.”

“There must be an animal that you like.”

“Hm.” Ben pretends to consider this. “Ah. Yes. I do enjoy a good cow. Thick. Juicy. Medium rare.”

“You’re disgusting.”

She smiles as she says it. Ben has been called disgusting many times, given his line of work. Never before has it made his stomach flutter the way it does when it comes from the mouth of this silly, sentimental girl.

“I am,” he says, just to make her smile some more. 

Rey hides it with a shake of her head as she squats before her variety of strange and colorful objects. “Cats need something to hunt. They are natural predators.” 

“You want to  _ encourage  _ it to hunt?”

“Hunting is an outlet for his natural instincts. Otherwise he might start to get…” Her eyes find the bandages on his hands. “Aggressive.”

Ben is fairly sure that aggression is the beast’s natural state, but Rey is already moving on. 

“Have you tried playing with Chewie in the past?”

“Yes.”

She looks up at him, surprised. Ben feels a brief surge of triumph at having done something correctly. “That's wonderful. What does he do for play?”

“Well… it was only once.” Ben recalls the memory with distaste. “And it didn't work. The cat was being a little asshole.”

“It might have been the toy.”

“It wasn't a toy. It was an orange.”

“You tried to play with Chewie… with an orange?”

“It was the only thing I had at the time,” Ben says, with growing irritation. “He never learned how to fetch.”

A burst of laughter escapes her. It’s such a pleasant sound, it almost makes Ben forget she's laughing at him. “Most cats don't play fetch.”

“This cat doesn't do anything at all but make my life miserable.”

“We’re going to give it another try. With some  _ real _ toys, this time.” She plucks a selection of multi-colored balls from the floor. A few of them jingle. Just what he needs – more things to trip over while he's chasing the little monster around the house. “If Chewie enjoys batting things around, he might like these. But don't expect him to bring them back to you when he's done.”

“How disappointing.”

“Well, these are more interactive.” Rey lifts a long stick in the air, a string of feathers dangling from the rope at the end. “Cats enjoy chasing the movement of the feathers.”

“Do they.” Unhelpfully, Ben’s mind provides him with several other ways they could make use of such a device. He feels his ears start to burn.

“Let's find Chewie and give it a shot.”

She doesn't give him a chance to respond. Sweeping into the hall, she starts to call the cretin’s name like she actually cares about the damn thing. Ben follows helplessly behind, still thinking about how those feathers might look trailing across her freckled skin.

“You won’t find him,” he tells her. “This is what he does. Refuses to get out of the way when it’s most inconvenient, and then he’ll let you look for him for hours before he finally –”

The only thing that trumps the cat’s aversion to following instructions, apparently, is his desire to make Ben look like a jackass. There is a flash of orange fur, and then the beast is leaping at the feathers. Getting more exercise than he’s probably seen in years. 

Rey makes a delighted sound, which eases his frustration. But only slightly. “You only needed something to play with, didn’t you, big guy?”

When they get him back in the living room – and he is unexpectedly obedient, sprinting after the feathers without any prodding – Rey shows Ben how to make the toy move like prey, instead of the way he shakes the feathers half-heartedly in the cat’s face. They make it race across the carpet, hide behind chairs and table legs. Ben discovers that if he gives the thing a twitch, like an animal playing dead, Chewie’s pupils explode and he pounces. Like flipping a switch.

He is feeling – a little bit more in control, by the end of it. He might even be having fun.

When Rey finally leaves, an hour later than she’s scheduled to, it takes Ben a few minutes to realize that the unfamiliar ache in his cheeks is because he hasn’t stopped smiling.

* * *

 

The next time Rey arrives, Ben is definitely not smiling anymore.

It has been... a week. An extraordinarily terrible week. At the very last minute, the Ramirez case fell through – mostly because the DA’s office got their hands on their key witness and pulled him straight from under Ben’s nose. 

Snoke ripped him to shreds in front of most of the staff yesterday. Among many other colorful adjectives, Ben is also a tremendous disappointment to the firm. He is losing his focus.  _ You’ve been late four times this week, _ Snoke had said.  _ I am starting to wonder if you were not ready for this promotion. _

It’s all the cat’s fault, Ben knows.

The cat is ruining his damn life.

So when Rey knocks on his door Saturday morning, Ben definitely does not return her smile.

“How has Chewie been this week?”

She seems oblivious to his foul mood as she breezes through the door. This only serves to deepen his rage. “Chewie,” he says, voice dripping with disdain, “has been a fucking  _ nightmare _ this week.”

She pauses on her way to the living room, looking thoughtful. “Have you been playing with him?”

“ _ Playing _ with him?” Ben barks out a bitter laugh. “I haven’t had time to play with him. I have a job, you see. With many responsibilities. And  _ Chewie, _ ” he spits out the word with such loathing that she flinches, “is making it damn near impossible for me to fulfill them.”

Rey looks… a little frightened, with the way he’s towering over her. It makes his gut twist with self-loathing – but this is the way it should be, isn’t it? This is how it was always going to end up. He feels sick with rage, staring down at her. He can’t make himself stop.

“Isn’t this supposed to be  _ your _ job, Rey? Fixing cats? Is it because your friend put you up to this, that you’re doing such a shit job at it?”

Outrage twists her face. “I can’t do my job if you don’t follow my instructions.” 

“Which instructions? To  _ play _ with the animal while it pisses all over my carpet? To ask it politely not to go on the counter? It broke three more glasses Wednesday morning. Three. I’m going to have to get a new set.”

Her eyes flash with anger. “I’m sure that will really set you back.”

“Is that what this is about?” Ben’s voice is rising. He can’t stop. “Did Finn not give you enough money? Because I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you whatever you want. But I’ll be paying for more than some pathetic platitudes about  _ trust _ and  _ bonding. _ I need you to make this animal stay away from my things. I need it to refrain from mauling me at every opportunity. And I need it to fucking  _ behave _ so that I can get back to living my goddamn life!”

For a few moments, she only stands there. Utterly calm, while he hovers over her and catches his breath. He realizes that he was yelling at her. Shouting.

About a  _ cat. _

“The only reason I haven’t walked out of here,” she says quietly, “is because I like you. Let’s just make that clear.”

Ben blinks. He's not sure which is more surprising: that she isn't yelling back at him, or that she won't leave.

“I know things have been – difficult for you, lately. With the cat.” Her mouth tightens. “But that doesn’t make it okay for you to speak to me that way.”

Rey’s tone… it makes him run a hand over his face. He wonders if it is as hot as it feels against his palm. He wonders what he must look like to her right now. If she’s ever met a thirty-year-old man who loses it over something so insignificant as a stupid animal.

He wonders if his outburst is perhaps about something – more. Something beyond his father’s wretched cat.

But he's not quite ready to think about that yet.

“I won’t,” he says roughly. “Speak to you that way. In the future.” His tongue is having a hard time forming the words he wants to say. “I’ve been told that I... have a temper.”

“So have I,” she says, to his surprise. “Come on. Let’s sit.”

Once again, he finds her leading him through his own home. He sits at the island in his kitchen, feeling rather humiliated, as she finds his remaining two glasses and fills them with water from the tap.

“I can see that you've been through a lot lately,” Rey begins carefully. “With the cat.”

He gets the feeling that she might not be talking about Chewie anymore. But he will unpack that later.

She is still talking, using that same deliberate, measured tone. “The thing about cats, Ben, is that we need to learn to live with them. Not the other way around.”

Ben scowls. “So I should just let it make a toilet out of my bedroom?”

“Of course not.” Rey slides the glass across the counter. The coolness of the water feels good against his tongue. “But if you ignore a cat’s needs, they’re just going to manifest in other ways.”

“I don’t see a reason why he needs to put his filthy paws all over the counter.”

“He doesn't. But that’s where he’s getting your attention.”

Ben huffs out an angry sigh. “I still don't want him up there.”

“Cats are going to go wherever they want to,” Rey tells him gently. “Part of living with a cat is learning how to accept that.”

“So I just – let him do whatever the hell he wants?”

“Until you figure out what he needs from you, you’re going to have to be patient with him.” Her hand brushes over his unexpectedly. “It’ll take some time for him to adjust. Cats don’t take very well to big changes.”

“Neither do I.” Her thumb brushes back and forth against his knuckles. He isn’t sure why he finds it so soothing, or even why he needs to be soothed. 

“It takes time, Ben.” There is something meaningful, in her gaze. Loaded with something he's not quite ready to talk about yet. “And you may never stop feeling like you are right now. About Chewie, I mean. You need to be patient with yourself.”

Ben takes another long, cool sip of water. “Patience is… not a strength of mine.”

“Be careful, Solo.” She is smiling at him again. “You and Chewie might have more in common than you think.”

* * *

That week, Ben finally stumbles upon a brand of canned food that Chewie will eat. 

From a safe distance, Ben leans against the counter and watches as the cat approaches this morning’s experiment. He takes one tentative lick at the mush, and then another. Then proceeds to scarf the entire thing down.

Chewie begins to meow at him after that. Tiny chirps, following him around the apartment. Even greeting him at the door sometimes. Ben knows he is only demanding food – the little shit has an endless appetite, now that he’s stopped being so picky. 

But sometimes... Ben finds himself talking back to him.

Even if it’s just to tell him to shut the fuck up.

Rey, he thinks, will be proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for taking the time to leave your kudos and feedback 💛 this silly lil cat AU is the most wholesome thing I've written in a while and I'm really enjoying it. Hope you all had a lovely Valentine's Day!


	3. Chapter 3

Ben only agrees to go because Poe makes him feel like he owes him something.

As a rule, Ben does not accept help. He doesn’t like feeling beholden to others. The only person who has ever tricked him into accepting a favor is James Snoke, and Ben is still paying off that debt eight years later.

So when Dameron casually brings up Rey, Ben knows it’s not because he actually gives a shit about Ben’s monster of a cat. It’s because Ben has flat-out rejected Poe’s invitation three times to go to his house later for a “dinner party,” whatever that is, to “make some new friends,” which is just as foreign of a concept.

It was an ambush, really. Ben had been waiting for the Keurig to finish boiling water, so there was nowhere for him to escape.

Which is how he finds himself standing with a bottle of wine on the doorstep of Dameron’s brownstone, already crafting his excuse for why he needs to leave early. He will blame it on the cat, obviously. It will have set the building on fire. Somehow.

Ben’s still working out the details when the door swings open. A torrent of light and laughter spills out onto the street, accompanied by the scattered notes of some predictably nauseating light pop playlist.

“Wow.” Finn looks genuinely surprised. “You came.”

“I did.”

“We didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“Wonderful.” Ben tries not to look too irritated. “If I’d known I had a choice, I would have stayed home.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dameron appears behind his husband’s shoulder. From the flush on his cheeks, he is already at least three cocktails deep. “Get your ass in here, Solo. I got the organic shit for you.”

Ben highly doubts Dameron knows enough about organic shit to purchase food he would find edible, but he doesn’t seem sober enough to have a rational discussion about sourcing ingredients at the moment. Begrudgingly, he follows them inside.

Dameron’s townhouse is just as chaotic as he expected. Ben knows personally just how much Dameron's bi-monthly paycheck is, so he has no reason for outfitting his home like a mismatched donation bin. Then again, Dameron doesn't need a reason for many of the things he does.

"Finn made sangria."

"And Poe snuck in a little too much wine." As Finn leads them into the kitchen, he throws Ben a knowing grin that he does not return.

"Shocking." Ben takes a quick survey of the people he sees mingling about. There are a dozen people in the kitchen and at least as many in the den, from the noises of conversation and laughter that float through the doorway.

In short: Far too many for Ben's comfort level.

It doesn't help that he recognizes most of them from the office. Having to deal with them at work is bad enough. Why would he want to waste his free time in their company as well?

Something brushes lightly against his shin. Ben looks down – and nearly jumps out of his shoes when he sees a bundle of gray fur within clawing distance of his leg.

"You're making friends already!" Dameron stoops down to scratch the creature's head. "This is BB-8. He can probably smell your cat."

"I don't have a cat."

"Still in denial," Finn mutters. "Rey did wonders with BB-8, you know. Did you ever book her for an additional session?"

Ben is struck by the same off-kilter sensation that comes upon him whenever he is reminded of Rey's existence. "What?"

"You brought more wine for the sangria!" Poe snatches the bottle from his grasp. "Have some sangria, Solo."

"I don't like sangria. What did you say about Rey?"

"She transformed our BB here into the friendly little bugger he is now." Finn stoops down and – to Ben's amazement – scoops the cat into his arms, like it is a tiny child rather than a lethal combination of claws and teeth. "She was a miracle worker with him. You should really have her back for a second session."

"Of course I've had her back," Ben snaps, wishing that Finn would stop moving closer with the damn death trap in his arms. "You're the one who keeps sending her to me."

Finn gives him an odd look. But before he can respond, Dameron shoves a glass of questionable ruby liquid in his face

"C'mon, Solo, loosen up a little. I got the organic orange juice for you. It's been a long month for you, buddy."

Ben snatches it from him, if only because he might throw a punch at the other man if he asks again – and especially if he keeps talking about Ben's long month. A group of laughing young women that Ben recognizes from HR stumbles past, nearly knocking the sangria all over his cashmere sweater along the way.

All at once, Ben decides he's had enough.

"I have to go."

"But you just got here!"

"It's an emergency," he says flatly. "My building's on fire. I just got the call."

"Don't think you can pull that sneaky shit with me, Solo!" Dameron wags a finger in his face. "I was watching you the whole time, and you definitely, absolutely did not get any call."

"A text, then. They're blaming it on the cat, so I really must be going."

"Are we talking about Chewie?"

Ben's heart does a strange little somersault in his chest. Because that was a woman's voice, interrupting their conversation – a woman's voice with an unmistakably British lilt that has been crowding his thoughts over the past few weeks.

"Rey." Her name comes out like a croak. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Oh. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier." Dameron's grin is very wide. "Would've had an easier time dragging you here if – _ooof!"_

Finn has elbowed his husband in the ribs. Ben's regard for Dameron's husband raises at least three notches.

"I didn't know you'd be here either." Rey is right beside him. Her smile is generous and radiant, as it always is whenever she turns it upon him.

"Well, I am," Ben says stupidly.

She is wearing a dress. She always dresses so practically when she comes to his apartment – t-shirts and leggings – that he's never considered what she would look like, in a dress. He should be grateful, really, because it would have been very distracting, to have known about the smooth, round curve of her bare shoulder. To try and focus on her ridiculous instructions about intonation and danger zones while wondering what the gentle dip of her collarbone would taste like, salty with sweat.

"What were you saying about Chewie?" she asks brightly.

"Oh, just that he's burned Ben's apartment down." Dameron can't keep his damn mouth shut. "Big emergency. He's got to run."

Rey's eyes grow very wide – before she sees the look on Ben's face. He must appear... less than convincing. Because she lifts a brow at him (is she wearing mascara?) and smirks.

"Our Chewie is quite the overachiever." _Our_. She said our. Ben decides he quite likes the sound of that.

Distantly, he hears the doorbell ring. Finn drags away his husband to greet the new guests. Ben does not miss the fact that Rey's eyes don't leave his face the entire time.

"He's had a brilliant teacher." Ben delights in the way this makes her mouth curl with amusement.

"So how did he manage to light a fire all by himself?"

Shit. He hasn't thought this far ahead. "He... turned on the fireplace."

“You don’t have a fireplace.”

“You don’t know that." Ben's eyes flicker to her mouth. "I might have one in my bedroom.”

Rey blushes just as sweetly here as she does in Ben's apartment. He imagines bringing her to many other places and making her blush just like that.

She looks up at him through very dark lashes. "You'll just have to show me next time."

A large hand claps down on Ben's shoulder, rudely jolting him from his thoughts of the many things he'd like to show Rey in his bedroom. And then he is face-to-face with Lando Calrissian, and anything related to bedrooms and Rey evaporates from his mind.

"Benjamin Solo." Calrissian's expression is remarkably cheerful, considering their last encounter had ended with Ben throwing a cup of iced coffee in his face. "It's been too long, my friend."

"Has it?"

"Of course it has." His shoulder is starting to itch where the man's hand is still resting, heavy and hot. "Clearly. I had no idea you'd gotten yourself a girlfriend."

Ben's ears start to burn. "Oh – we're not –"

"Of course you're not," Calrissian interrupts, to Ben's immense agitation. The other man's eyes fix firmly on Rey's face. He flashes her a grin. "In that case, aren't you going to introduce me to your lovely friend here?"

Ben wonders how accidental he could make it if he were to spill a second beverage all over this man's too-expensive suit.

"Rey." She holds out a hand, very professionally. Calrissian grasps it and – Ben's stomach boils with rage – raises it gently to his lips.

"Lando," he murmurs against the back of her knuckles.

Ben is infuriated. He despises that this man's mouth has touched her before Ben has had the chance to... to what? His mind can't conjure an ending to that sentence. Should he have pulled Rey's delicate fingers to his own lips, when she first offered him a handshake? Was this some sort of secret communication between men and women that Ben, always three steps behind, never learned on his own?

He is deeply grateful, therefore, when Rey slips her hand away as soon as possible. "A pleasure."

"It was too bad about the Ramirez case." Calrissian has turned his attention back to Ben, who grimaces. He has no interest in talking about work when he could be talking to Rey instead.

"It wasn't important."

"Nonsense. Snoke had you guys working that one hard."

"We move through two dozen cases a month. It was nothing."

"Perhaps it was for the best, that it didn't go to trial." Calrissian levels him with a loaded glance. "You've got a lot going on yourself right now."

"Oh, did you hear?" Rey interjects, clearly trying to change the subject. "Ben's got a new cat."

Calrissian doesn’t seem to take the hint. "Han's old boy. He always loved that mangy thing."

The kitchen is shrinking around them. Or maybe it's the air, growing thinner in his lungs. "It's not my cat."

"He would have wanted you to take good care of it. Your mother, too."

"Don't presume to tell me what they would want," Ben hisses. "And Chewie is a _him_. Not an _it_."

"I can see I struck a nerve." Calrissian's heavy hand is still on his shoulder. Squeezing. "It's all right, boy. Give it some time. It's only been – what, a month?"

Lando Calrissian's face is shifting, the way faces always shift when people want to convey their pity. His mouth thins. His brow furrows.

Ben thinks he's going to be sick.

Abruptly, he tears himself away from the hand on his shoulder and the empty expressions of sympathy that seem to crowd him on all sides wherever he goes. He hardly hears himself stammer out some half-hearted excuse as he turns to escape. But there is no escape. A blur of faces – some from work, some not – and soon all are unrecognizable as Ben shoves his way through the kitchen, past the bathroom, down the hall –

And then he is outside.

The fresh air swallows his panic like cold water. Ben basks in it for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. Trying not to think about Lando Calrissian, or what exactly happened a month ago, or Han Solo and that cursed, godforsaken _cat_ –

"Ben."

The noise of the party swells and then falters as Rey opens and closes the door. A few steps, and she is standing quietly beside him. Looking out at the street together.

For a long while, neither of them speak.

"It's been forty-four days.” Ben’s not sure where the words come from. He doesn't look at her as he says them. He isn’t looking at anything at all.

Rey blinks up at him. "What?"

"Calrissian said it's only been a month. Since it happened." Ben clears his throat. "It's been longer than that."

The brush of Rey's fingers along the back of his hand – it shouldn't feel so familiar. "It's been... 12 years. For me." The words are spoken so quietly he almost doesn't hear. "And sometimes... it still feels like it was yesterday."

This time, it's Ben who slips his hand quietly into hers.

* * *

"It's hideous."

"How could it be hideous? It looks just like the rest of your furniture."

"It looks _nothing_ like the rest of my furniture." Kneeling on the floor, Ben gives a particularly vicious twist of the wrench. "It's a monstrosity."

"We ordered the version in black! All your other furniture is black."

"All of my other furniture has a _purpose."_

"This has a purpose." Paper crinkles loudly as Rey flips through the instruction packet. "Don't you want Chewie to stop climbing all over your counters?"

"I want him to behave. Not to climb on other things."

"He can both behave _and_ climb on other things." Rey holds up a colorful package. "Look – it comes with feathers!"

"Just what I need."

She fastens them atop a spring that protrudes from the top of the cat tree. Ben isn't certain of its purpose. He is too distracted by the way her teeth are digging into her lower lip while she's concentrating.

"Would you pass me the wrench?" Rey glances over at him – and then does a double-take when she notices him staring. A flush crawls up her cheeks. "You're not being very helpful."

Ben has been thinking quite often about the way she blushes. It used to make him feel a little guilty, how much he thrills in evoking these tiny reactions from her. She is so much younger than he is. It’s probably making her uncomfortable.

But the way she looks at him after... Ben is starting to wonder if maybe she's thought about it too.

"The wrench." A small smile curls her lips as she extends her hand.

Ben rises from the floor to stand beside her. "Allow me." She doesn't move away. He can feel the warmth of her body, inches from his own, as he leans past her to fasten the final tier in its place.

"That was the fastest I've ever put together a cat tree." Rey's smile is much closer to his mouth than it normally is. "I should bring you along to all my clients."

Ben looks into her eyes, and he knows all at once that he'd go anywhere that she wanted him to. The realization is a little stunning. Like walking out into the blinding morning sun after spending the night at his desk. It's just the same as those confused, sleep-deprived moments – his mind struggling to reconcile the night sky it expects with the brilliant daytime that floods his eyes instead.

The moment of adjustment never comes. Ben can't remember the last time anything this lovely walked into his life.

"Chewie!" Rey's attention swivels to somewhere over his shoulder, and Ben feels a stab of envy at the way the damn cat makes her face light up every single time. "Look, Ben. He wants to check out his new playground."

Sure enough, Chewie is skulking into the room. He looks like he's only just recently awoken. The slovenly creature spends almost all of his time sleeping – when he isn't busy terrorizing Ben, of course.

"I'm sure," Ben says dryly. He thinks it far more likely that the cat has a preternatural ability to detect the most inconvenient moment to interrupt them.

The little beast has completely diverted Rey's attention. She produces one of her ridiculous string toys, cooing and attempting to coax him toward his new tower.

Chewie approaches it warily, as if he's afraid it might attack him. He gives it perhaps three sniffs. Ben wonders with unexpected excitement which part the cat will explore first. The covered hutch? The scratching post? The ridiculous feathers vibrating at the top of the spring?

The answer, as it turns out, is none of it. Tail twitching dismissively, Chewie turns away. And then leaps into the cardboard box that had packaged the $250 piece of cat furniture they've spent the past hour and a half assembling.

The top fold of the box flaps shut as Chewie vanishes inside.

 _"Hey!"_ Ben strides over to the box as Rey tries unsuccessfully to contain her laughter. "You've got to be kidding me! You didn't even notice the goddamn _feathers –!"_

A small, orange paw flies out of the box like a Venus fly trap, nearly snagging his hand as he moves to open it.

Ben needs to muster all of his self control not to kick the box across the room. "I would have lurked around the back of Home Depot if I'd known you just wanted a piece of _wet cardboard!"_

"Hey." Still laughing, Rey touches his arm. Bringing him back to earth in that strange way she does. "He'll come around."

"Is it because I didn't get the one with four tiers?" Ben sounds petulant, even to his own ears. He hates what this cat reduces him to.

"This thing is going to be his new best friend. And yours too, once it starts distracting him from your counters."

“I don’t have a lot of friends,” Ben says bitterly. “I suppose a piece of furniture is a good place to start.”

“And me.” Rey is standing too close again. And smiling. This particular combination always seems to do something strange to Ben’s brain. He has a hard time remembering what he was so angry about. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Ben feels the corner of his mouth quirk. “Two friends, then.”

Something warm and wonderful blooms in his chest as he stands there, next to the ugliest piece of furniture he’s ever seen – and Rey. There is a scrambling, shuffling noise of claws against cardboard as Chewie chases his tail inside the box.

* * *

Much later, Ben is sitting on his couch. A tiny red light zooms across the floor, followed by the furious skittering of Chewie's paws against the wood as he gives it chase.

"Solo?" Dameron's voice sounds surprised on the other end of the line. "What's wrong?"

Ben scowls, adjusting his phone beneath his cheek and his shoulder. "Can't a friend call to talk?"

"We're not friends." Poe sounds confused. "Are we?"

"You're right. We're not. Is your husband home?"

"You mean Finn?

"Do you have another husband?"

"I didn't know you were friends with him either." There is a pause. "Are you looking for girl advice? Because you can talk to me too. I'm just as gay as Finn, you know."

"Why on earth would I ask a gay man for advice about women?"

"So you _do_ need advice about women!"

In the background, Ben hears another voice. _"Who the hell are you talking to?"_

"Let me talk to Finn."

"I'm not done yet."

 _"Did you say Solo? As in_ Ben _Solo?"_

Ben listens to them bicker for a few moments as he lazily flicks the laser from one side of the room to the other. Chewie races after it each time, an orange blur of fur and tail.

This device is by far the most effective that Rey has left here. And the most entertaining. Ben lets the laser jump onto the wall, watching as Chewie nearly barrels into it face-first. Definitely the most entertaining.

"Everything all right, Ben?" Finn's voice is a little breathless after wrestling his husband for the phone.

"Why do you both assume I'm calling about some tragedy?"

"Last time we saw you, your apartment was on fire."

"Right." Ben discovers that if he flicks the laser back and forth between the floor and the armchair, Chewie leaps maniacally back and forth, like a demonic bouncing bean. "False alarm."

"What a relief." Finn's voice is dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for letting us know."

"Sure. Let's talk about Rey."

A beat of confused silence. "Rey?"

"Yes. The cat trainer," he adds, trying to affect a disinterested tone.

"I know who she is. She's my best friend."

Ben's fist tightens around the laser pointer. "Right." He tries to remember the purpose of his call. "Rey. So. She was... very good with Chewie."

"I knew she would be."

Ben leans back on the couch and tries to sound as casual as possible. "So if I wanted to book her for a second session... What would that involve?"

There is a pause. Ben wonders for a moment if he's miscalculated, if he misunderstood what Finn had suggested at the party and he'd truly been paying for Rey to come here all this time.

But when Finn starts to speak, his grin is practically audible over the phone. "The second session is usually a little more involved. Feeding habits, types of play." He pauses. "You know, I had a feeling she'd be your type."

Ben doesn't even bother to argue with him.

He sits in silence for a long time after they hang up. Deep in thought. At some point, he's forgotten to continue flicking the laser around the room. He only notices this because Chewie is no longer running around like a maniac, or attacking all of his valuables – but actually... sleeping. Curled up in a ball, his paws bunched exactly where the little red light had come to rest on the hardwood floor. Fast asleep.

_We're friends, aren't we?_

It doesn't seem possible.

Now that Finn has confirmed one suspicion, it is time for Ben to confirm a second one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sharing your encouragement and your cat stories with me!! I've been having a lot of fun with this fic. Just one more chapter to go. A big thanks as always to my wife who is kind enough to beta her gift along with everything else I ever write ♥️
> 
> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while! Thank you guys for your patience while I wrapped this up.
> 
> Since you probably don't remember what happened last update: Ben finally spoke with Rey about the loss of his parents. He also learned from Finn that Rey has actually been offering her services to him for free. We left off with Ben pondering why she's been so generous to him—and trying to figure out how to confirm his main suspicion.

As soon as Ben opens the door, Chewie greets him with an especially miserable _mrowww._

“Don’t give me that.” His unhappy companion pads just behind him as he strides down the hall. “Snoke wouldn’t let me leave.”

_”Mrowwww.”_

“I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“Mrrrr- _owww.”_

“I’m hungry too,” Ben snaps, putting his briefcase beside his desk. “Be patient and let me unpack my things.”

He had wanted more time. Time to change out of his office clothes. To put on some music, maybe, or even start some dinner. He would have been casual about it, so that he could seem surprised when he answered the door, foyer full of the scent of a roast. _I’d forgotten you were coming today,_ he’d say, even if he hasn’t stopped thinking of her every second of every day since she needed to reschedule their usual time slot. Rey would have noticed he was making dinner. She would offer to come back another time, maybe.

Ben wouldn’t have let her.

But no. That is decidedly _not_ how this evening is going to go.

When he turns back to his desk, he finds that Chewie has parked himself directly on top of his briefcase, large tail sweeping back and forth.

“Chewie.” Ben tries to inject as much goodwill into his voice as he can manage. The way Rey taught him to. “If you don’t let me unpack, I won’t be able to feed you.”

The cat’s big orange tail swishes, one way then the other. His beady yellow eyes are narrowed in a decidedly impatient expression.

“I can stand here all night, you know,” Ben says, even though he most certainly cannot.

Chewie’s errant tail sweeps a sheet of paper off the desk. Its tiny eyes seem to pierce straight into Ben’s soul. Like they can see his bluff, clear as day.

Ben leans forward, gritting his teeth.

“Try me.”

The bell rings.

His eyes jump to the clock on the wall. In the space of three seconds, he forgets all about the cat, his bluff and unpacking his briefcase.

Ben opens the front door before he even has time to prepare for what he’ll say when he sees her.

He’s never needed to prepare, after all. Thing have always been surprisingly easy with Rey, right from the start. But he regrets his eagerness as soon as he throws it open—and can think of nothing more to do but stare at her like an idiot.

Rey is digging inside her bag, face scrunched up. “I could have sworn I brought catnip today." Thankfully, she has yet to look up at him. "I thought it would be fun. They all react differently, but it usually makes them sleep afterward, and god knows you both could use a little—"

She stops talking abruptly. Her eyes are wide as they take him in—traveling from face, down to where his chest stretches his suit which, though he’s gone to three different tailors, still never quite manages to contain him. Ben is not often self-conscious about his appearance, but he feels a bit silly right now, remembering the way the buttons pull across his chest. Rey must think him utterly inadequate. What kind of fool is incapable of finding clothes that actually fit him?

But her expression... she doesn’t look like she finds him foolish. In fact, her cheeks are turning a little pink as she looks away.

“I’ve never seen you in a suit,” Rey blurts out.

“I haven’t seen you in a suit either.”

Her laughter always has a surprised quality—like it spills out of her without her realizing it. “I’m sure you look better in it than I would.”

“I don’t know about that,” he murmurs.

Rey is… definitely blushing now. It makes his pulse come a little faster, to think for one wild second that he might actually be right about this. About her.

“May I come in?” She’s never asked before. She usually just breezes right past him, chatting away like she owns the place. But Ben is still thinking about the color on her cheekbones, and the way she told him once that he is _intimidating._

“Yes."

He hardly moves from the doorframe.

The way she brushes against him feels achingly deliberate. For a moment, her chin tilts up toward him as she passes. Ben is reminded of that first day—the thought he had upon meeting her. How easy it would be to lean down and suck her lip between his teeth.

Then she is in his hallway, and Ben closes the door behind her.

_”Mrowww!”_

Rey stoops over as Chewie trots over to her, rubbing against her legs. “Looks like someone hasn’t had his dinner yet.”

“I only just got home,” Ben says, a little guiltily.

“Let me feed him.”

Rey doesn’t even ask for permission. Without waiting for him to follow, she heads into his kitchen, flipping the switch on the wall and flooding the room with light.

"You don't need to do that," Ben tells her as she snags a can of grain-free, ten-dollar-an-ounce bullshit from the counter.

"Don't be silly. It's my job."

But is it? His eyes follow her across the kitchen as she rifles through his drawers—is she always so intrusive?—until she comes across the can opener.

If no one is paying her to be here, then why is she showing him such kindness?

"This is a good brand." Rey squints at the can.

"It's more expensive than what I feed myself."

"The things we do for love."

Her sly smile lets him know she's teasing him about the orange monster, who is currently pacing across the tile and yowling at the prospect of dinner.

Ben's heart does a funny somersault all the same.

* * *

"This was supposed to make him _sleep?"_

Chewie is currently on his thirty-eighth circuit around Ben's living room. The prior thirty-seven were completed in less than a minute, following a tentative investigation of a new plush toy that Rey has clearly bewitched to make the cat completely lose his mind.

"I said they have—different effects. On each cat." Rey can hardly speak without giggling. Ben would find it endearing, if the hell-creature weren't coming dangerously near to knocking over his floor lamp with each consecutive pass around the room.

"And what would you call _this?"_

Chewie pauses mid-circuit to suddenly flop onto his side, rolling around like he is trying to rub himself into the floor.

Rey tries unsuccessfully to hide her grin. "He's enjoying himself."

"He's high as a damn kite. You got my cat high."

"Oh, so now he's _your_ cat?"

She's smirking at him—and Ben, who has made a career out of arguing with people, can't find it in himself to protest.

"This will only last a few minutes," Rey says as Chewie proceeds to chase his tail in mad circles across the floor. "And then he'll take a nice nap. Hopefully."

It takes even less time than that.

Three and a half laps later, Chewie is passed out across the hardwood floor. He has rather obnoxiously chosen the doorway as an ideal location to sprawl his furry body, stretched out so that it’s impossible to pass without endangering one’s lower leg.

But Ben doesn't mind being trapped in here a little longer, as long as Rey Sanders is with him.

Although... He swallows, watching her pack away her catnip.

"You don't have to stay," he hears himself say, like an idiot.

Rey throws him a smile over her shoulder. "You're not getting rid of me that quickly."

"The cat is sleeping." Why the hell is he arguing with her?

"We've still got another half hour to fill."

Here is his chance. Ben watches her carefully as she finishes zipping up her bag. Keeping his voice as casual as possible, he says, "Tell me... how many visits did Finn put you up for again?"

"Oh, I'm giving him a good rate. Don't worry about it."

Rey doesn't notice the way he stands there, completely silent, while he processes this information. His mind whirls with all his wild rationalizations for her behavior—that someone else has paid her, perhaps, or that she is offering courtesy calls to desperate grieving men a decade her senior.

None of them stand up to the reality.

Rey is here because she wants to be.

She is still talking, completely oblivious to Ben’s newfound revelation. "I thought we could go over any questions you might have, while Chewie is sleeping."

"Questions." Ben has a lot of those. _Where did you come from? Why are you still here? Would you let me take you to dinner?_

"Yes," she says, and for one panicked moment, he fears he has lost it completely and started speaking his thoughts aloud—but then she continues. "About general cat behavior. Anything Chewie does that really puzzles you."

He would usually find this amusing—there wouldn't be enough time in a hundred of these visits to go over all the things about Chewie that puzzle him—but right now, it's not his cat's behavior that has him reeling with confusion.

He follows her to the couch, where she sits far too close to him and she _doesn't need to be here_ and Ben thinks he might be losing his whole damn mind.

"Give me your hand," Rey says, then takes it before he has a chance to process what’s happening. Brow furrowed in thought, she turns it over in her slim fingers. He is so distracted by the sensation of her fingertips sliding over his skin, it takes him a few moments to realize she's examining the mosaic of scratches from his month-long battle with his new roommate.

"Tell me how a few of these happened."

The memory touches off a surge of irritation—much more familiar ground for him. "This one was while I was changing my sheets." Ben turns his hand over, frowning. "Little monster nearly took my arm off."

Rey's fingers trace the fading claw marks, winding up his wrist. All of Ben's irritation drains out of him in a rush. "Has he been better since the toys?"

Ben grimaces. "I suppose."

“It’s important to remember that cats have strong predatory instincts. They are very sensitive to abrupt movement."

"So I just need to hold myself completely still when he's around," Ben says dryly.

"I didn't say that." Rey's fingers are still trailing along his inner wrist. It's very distracting. "They are especially sensitive to motion traveling away from them. So if you are pulling something away from the cat—a sheet, a set of keys—it might help to do it slowly."

"Predatory instincts," Ben repeats. He is feeling a little predatory right now, with this lovely girl here in his space, still touching his hand like his too-big knuckles aren't ugly and his fingers might be good for something other than curling into a fist.

Rey's gaze slides from his hand to his eyes.

“And this.” Her hand hovers over his face for a moment, uncertain, before her cool fingertips are tracing the scar on his cheek. “How did you get this one?”

Fuck. Ben’s eyes flutter shut. It feels wrong, to have her touch him there—the testimony of his most shameful moment, splitting his face for all to see.

“I’ve made some choices,” he says at last. “Things I’m not proud of.”

“I've got a few of those too.”

“Do you?” It comes out before Ben can stop himself. “Ever tried to kill your father?”

There is a long pause. Ben’s eyes are still closed. He wonders if this is the part where she stops touching him. If she will get off his couch, walk out of his apartment and never come back. He does not think he would be able to blame her.

“I did,” she finally responds.

Blinking back shock, Ben looks up at her again.

“The man who fostered me. I killed him.”

Her eyes are still fixed on his scar, fingertips tracing its shape from his nose to his jaw.

“It was self-defense,” she adds, sounding very far away. “I was only sixteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. In this moment, the only thing he knows is that he would hunt down any fool that would dare harm this girl and squeeze the life from their throats with his own bare hands.

And it most certainly would not be self-defense.

When her eyes find his face again, however, they still all thoughts of violence and shame—along with the image of his father’s eyes, naked with betrayal the day after the accident.

“We’ve all made hard choices, Ben. But we can always decide to make new ones.”

Her fingers trail upward, past his scar. Brushing across his brow.

“You know..." Rey tilts her head, looking thoughtful. "There's something else we have in common with cats. We have a hard time being vulnerable around each other.” Meeting his gaze again, she pauses. “Do you know how we can tell when a cat is comfortable?”

His mind is still reeling with the knowledge that someone, anyone, attempted to hurt her. That she is still touching his face. That she is _here._ “No.”

“It’s a small thing. You might miss it if you aren’t looking for it.” Rey traces his eyelids with her fingertips. They flutter involuntarily beneath her soft touch. “If a cat likes you, he'll look at you and then close his eyes.”

“Chewie must like us very much right now, then.”

Rey snorts. “Not while he’s sleeping. When he’s already looking at you. Like this.”

Holding his gaze, she closes her eyes for a moment and then opens them again.

“It’s a signal of trust. A way to communicate that he knows you won’t hurt him while he’s open in front of you, even when he’s not watching to make sure.”

Ben can’t seem to look away from her, now that she’s staring into his eyes again. She seems even closer than before. Like she’s leaning toward him.

“Now you try,” Rey murmurs.

Swallowing thickly, Ben slides his eyes shut. And feels the softness of her mouth against his when she kisses him.

* * *

Ben has been imagining this since the day he opened the door and found her beaming up at him.

In all his fantasies, he assumed he would have to convince her. Prove to her over dinners and flowers that he could be worthy of her attention. That he'd _try._

He still plans to do all this, if she'll let him—but never in his wildest imaginings of this moment did he entertain the idea that the kissing would come _before_ these things.

Even more improbable was the thought that she might be the one to initiate it.

But here she is. Her hands sliding up his jaw, her body a warm weight hovering over his lap. Her mouth—her lovely, soft, pink little mouth—kissing his own.

Kissing _him._

He's not sure how her shirt ends up on his living room floor. Or how his hands find their way to her bra, which has a little bit of lace on the edges, almost like she'd been planning for this. But this thought alone, of Rey looking through her bras and choosing one because she is imagining Ben's hands on it—this thought is enough to make Ben groan, helplessly, into her lovely, soft, pink little mouth. It's enough to ruin him.

The bra ends up on the floor without Ben realizing how it got there, either. And then Rey is half-naked in his lap, and he's not thinking about her clothes or how she chose them anymore.

When he doesn't say anything, she begins to squirm. "I know." Her hands flutter nervously at her sides, like she doesn't know where to put them. "They're—not very big."

"Rey." Ben can't stop staring at her. She is—delectable. The loveliest thing he's ever seen. "Can I..." His hands look so large, curling around her abdomen. Sliding up her ribs. He wants to lick the freckles sprinkled across her ribcage, a constellation that leads him straight to the perfect little curves of her breasts.

Her uncertain hands settle in his hair, sifting through it.

Ben leans forward and pulls her nipple between his lips.

It is somehow even better than looking at her, the way she shifts in his lap, pressing into his mouth. Ben places a large palm on her lower back to make her arch even further. Her nipple is a hard little point beneath his tongue, pebbly with her arousal. She is starting to squirm—but there is no where for her to go, held firm by the wide hand on her back and the kisses he's now pressing all over her precious little tits.

"Perfection." The word grazes over her nipple, red and shiny with spit. "Everything about you, Rey. Utter perfection."

Goosebumps erupt across the delicate skin of her breast, and Ben chases them, hungrily, with his mouth.

"It's been a while," she gasps above him. Her restless squirming is applying friction just so—just _there—_ and Ben wonders if he is about to come in his pants like a teenager, just from having the most beautiful woman he's ever known panting and bare-chested in his lap. "But I want this." She sounds so breathless. Her eyes are dark and hot with arousal as they lock onto his. "I've wanted this for—for a while."

"How long?" He is suddenly consumed with the need to know. His thumbnail scrapes just under the perimeter of her nipple, and her breath catches.

"Our first visit. By the end of it. I knew this was going to happen."

It's this admission—not the kissing, not the stripping, not even Ben's mouth on her naked skin—no, but this particular confession about her attraction for him that makes her cheeks blossom into a blush as rosy as the day they first met.

"I was horrible to you,” Ben says, because he can’t seem to stop providing her with reasons to reject him.

"A little." Her fingers slip down to his ears, and she gives him a coy smile. "But these would turn bright red whenever you looked at me."

He catches her wrists in his hands. "You'll be red everywhere, when I'm finished with you."

And because Rey Sanders is the best thing that's ever happened to him, this is not too much for her. In fact, she reacts exactly how he needs her to—stilling in his lap, pupils dilating rapidly with desire.

It sends a dark thrill racing down his spine.

Ben's tie joins her clothes on the ground, eventually followed by his button-down shirt. The latter item takes much longer in its journey, however—mostly because Ben can't stop palming at her breasts while she struggles with his buttons. He can't help himself. Her distraction is perfectly delicious to him, her fingers slipping and fumbling whenever he strokes or twists or pinches.

Rey is only halfway down his torso when her progress starts to slow, halted by Ben's mouth on the dainty curve of her throat. She's abandoned her task in favor of grasping at the fabric in tight little fists, as though she's struggling to remain upright. As though Ben is the only thing that’s keeping her from shaking apart.

He puts his smirk to her ear. "Having trouble?"

A breathless laugh washes over his neck, followed by more restless squirming. Right against his cock. "I should've known you'd be a tease."

"You think this is teasing?" He gives her nipple a sharp squeeze for emphasis, enjoying the sweet little noise she makes in response. "We haven't even gotten started."

By the time his shirt is finally off his body, her bottom lip is worried red from her teeth. Ben wants to suck it into his mouth. He is interrupted by the fabric of his undershirt, yanked over his head by her clever little hands.

Rey tosses it over her shoulder, her smile sly. "Then let's get started."

Ben thinks he will devour her whole, if she lets him.

The next few minutes are a heady blur of bruising kisses and the sensation of her naked skin sliding against his. With no small amount of terror, Ben wonders if one night will be enough for him to get his fill of her—of how soft and sweet her breasts feel, crushed against his chest. The pitch of her whines when he wraps his hands around her waist and grinds her body down into his lap.

He doesn't think a hundred nights would be enough for him to drink every drop he craves from this girl.

“Would it be okay if…” Her hands find space between them, grasping at the waist of his slacks. “Do you think we could—take these off?”

Yes. _God_ yes. If only to save him from the humiliation of ejaculating in his boxers. Which is becoming an increasingly dangerous possibility, with the way her hips keep rocking against him.

“Here.” Still kissing her, Ben shifts, lifting her slightly. “You just need to—”

_“Mrowwwwwww!”_

Rey bursts into breathless giggles against his lips. It’s almost enough to placate Ben’s surge of irritation. Almost.

“It’s all right,” she says, pulling his belt from the loops. Her laughter might not have been enough to distract him, but the press of her fingers against the front of his pants certainly is. Ben soaks in the expression on her face—sweet and coy and _hungry—_ as she begins to pull down the zipper.

_“Mrowwwww—!”_

Now thoroughly roused from his nap, Chewie has jumped atop the entertainment center. Stalking in front of the television, he is doubtlessly leaving little Chewie-shaped paw prints all across the glass surface.

“God _damnit.”_ Fighting to suppress his agitation, Ben breaks their kiss. “He’s going to start knocking over the books. Just—let me just—”

His bare chest feels cold without her body pressed against it. Jaw twitching furiously, he rises from the couch and conducts a hasty search for the first available cat toy—not a great challenge, considering how many Rey has been sneaking in here each week. Sure enough, it doesn’t take him more than thirty seconds to locate a stuffed mouse lurking just beneath the sofa.

As soon as Chewie hears the little bells, he freezes, halfway through his journey across the television console. It's become his favorite routine when Ben is not giving him immediate attention—knocking books off the shelf just above—but he’s not going to get that far today. Ben shakes the little toy in the air, ensuring he has Chewie’s absolute focus—then hurls it out into the hallway.

The cat scampers after the sound of the jingling bells. Like clockwork.

“That’s right,” Ben mutters. “Little fucker.”

He is momentarily so taken with the ensuing rush of triumph that he doesn’t notice Rey until she is behind him, arms sliding around his front.

“Look at you.” She is grinning when Ben turns in her arms, staring down at her. “You’re learning how to meet his needs.”

Ben draws her closer, so all that freckled skin can press against his own again. “He was being an asshole.”

“He wanted to play. So you played with him.”

It’s hard to argue with her when she’s standing shirtless in his living room. Ben slides his hands down her back, wondering how quickly he can get the rest of her clothes off too. “The little demon was going to knock over all my books.”

“He was—” Rey’s breath hitches when his hands wander lower. “Looking for attention.”

“So I'm just supposed to give him what he wants.”

“Exactly.” Rising onto her toes, she presses her grin to his ear. “You’ll get the hang of this cat daddy business in no time.”

It might be her proximity, or maybe it’s just the shape of her mouth around that particular word—but it makes something dark and possessive curl in Ben’s abdomen. He pulls back so that he can look her directly in the eye.

“I don’t like rewarding bad behavior, Rey.”

She wets her lips. “If you pay attention to the kitten's needs, perhaps it wouldn't be behaving badly."

“Kittens need a firm hand.”

"Some more than others."

"And what kind are you?"

He's not sure where his boldness comes from, but Rey rewards him with a dark look, directed at him through her lashes. "You're the expert," she says. "You tell me."

All right, then. She wants to play.

Grasping her hips, Ben walks her backward three large steps until her shoulders meet the wall, where he can cage her in with his arms. The way he’d like.

“Why don’t we find out?“

Ben enjoys the way her breath hitches when his fingers trail down her abdomen, dancing playfully at her waistband.

"Will she be a good kitten?"

He undoes the fastenings of her jeans much more quickly than her previous button-challenged fumblings with his shirt,

"Or a needy one?"

"All kittens are at least a _little—_ ohhh."

Ben's hand is too large to fit comfortably in her jeans, but he manages to slide it inside anyway, cupping her through her underwear. A rush of lightheaded arousal washes over him at the way he finds her.

_"Very_ needy," he says roughly.

His movements are limited, but he can't resist massaging her, just to feel the way the material slips and slides against the damp heat beneath. The little whines bracketing her exhales are a nice perk.

"Whatever shall we do with you?"

“Ben. That—that feels—”

Her words cut off in a noise of distress when he pulls his hand away—but only so that he can drop to his knees before her. Working her pants down her thighs.

“I have some thoughts,” he murmurs.

He has, in fact, been thinking about this with shameful frequency these past few weeks. And now that he has her here—pinned to his living room wall, almost completely naked, eyes blown wide with desire as they look down at him… Ben’s vision is starting to whiten at the edges with the intensity of his arousal.

“God, Rey.” His hand gravitates between her legs again. Now that he has more range of motion, he can cup the entire hot mound of her, soaking through her underwear. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

"Ahh—oh, _fuck."_

“That’s not very nice.” Almost lazily, he finds the hard nub of her clit and strokes it through her underwear. “Kittens shouldn’t talk like that.”

“But I—I—”

"You won't get what you want if you can't ask nicely."

"Please," she says immediately. "Please, Ben. Don't stop."

"Be specific."

"Touching me." She sounds so breathless. "There. Oh _god,_ right there. Please."

Blood rushing in his ears, Ben gently separates her underwear from the sticky mess inside. He pulls the fabric down her legs until it joins her pants on the floor—and then she is wonderfully, gloriously naked before him.

"That's good, Rey." With two fingers, he parts her outer lips. Spreading her. Rey's thighs start to tremble. "Good kittens deserve a reward."

She is so tiny here. So pink. Ben's cock twitches when he imagines what it will feel like to slide into her. That she would even let him do so still seems like a fever dream.

One that he is apparently living in, when he finally starts to trail his finger through her folds.

"Look how _wet_ you are." Ben leans forward, so that he can examine her more closely. Keeping her spread wide for him.

_"Ahh..."_ She is having trouble breathing up there, his poor Rey—a trembling mess of shallow little inhales that rip open into a gasp when he blows, very precisely, against her exposed clit.

"Don't worry." He sounds so tender, speaking to her here. "I'll take care of you."

He touches her with his nose before his tongue—the tip of it nudging back and forth against that same bundle of nerves that keeps driving her to swear. He decides he'll forgive her this time. But only because his mouth is soon otherwise occupied.

Rey tastes like nectar on his tongue. Honey, with the slightest hint of musk. He laps at her like he is thirsty for her, for the softness of her softest skin against his lips. And for the sounds she is making, almost as sweet as the way she tastes, wet and hot in his mouth.

It doesn't take much time for her knees to buckle after he starts sucking on her clit. He only pulls away for a moment, but how she _mewls,_ the poor thing, and Ben is sure he is going to come just from the sound of such lovely desperation in her voice. Her distress quickly gives way to babbling relief, however, when he slings her thigh over his shoulder, wraps his hands around her waist and holds her squirming body still.

There is no where left for her to go like this. She can slump boneless against the wall if she needs to. Her body can be drained of all strength and filled back up again with tingling, toe-curling pleasure. It doesn't matter. Ben will still pin her there, lapping between her legs until she shows him exactly what she looks like when she comes.

It doesn’t take long for him to find out.

Rey doesn't look away from him, when she gets there. Her eyes are fixed on his face, huge and grateful and overwhelmed. Ben doesn't remember the last time someone looked at him that way. Like they weren’t trying to keep themselves from glancing away.

As he works her through her climax, Rey gasps his name until she has no breath anymore, and all she can do is arch, spasming, against his tongue.

Ben doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his life.

There is kissing, afterward—sloppy, messy kissing, because his chin is still wet and her fingers trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm. Rey gets his pants off somehow—or maybe he does, because she’s still half-collapsed against the wall, held up only by the long press of his body.

"Your fireplace," she says breathlessly, when he pulls away long enough for her to speak.

Ben pauses, stepping out of his boxers. "What?"

"You said you had a fireplace. In your bedroom." Rey bites back a mischievous smile. "You've still got to show me."

She makes a shocked noise when Ben suddenly lifts her into his arms. Her legs wrap almost instinctively around his waist, rubbing his cock against her stomach, and Ben needs to bite his tongue to keep himself from coming all over her, right here against the wall.

She still wants to be taken to bed, after all.

"I'll show you whatever you like." He hoists her more comfortably into his arms and begins to carry her down the hall. “Wherever you like. Whichever way you like it."

Her breathless laughter against his mouth is somehow even better than all the sounds she's made for him already.

* * *

"So. You _don't_ have a fireplace."

Rey is sprawled across his mattress, sated and soft. Ben has already had her twice—once too quickly, as soon as he had her on his bed, and again shortly afterward, when he could take his time with her. It was somewhere during this second time that he lost most of his capacity for speech—somewhere between her begging him incoherently to touch her clit again and the way her body spasmed around his cock once he did.

So it takes him a few moments, to understand what she's saying. Still catching his breath beside her, Ben frowns with confusion. "What about it?"

"You said you had one." Rey is smiling when he rolls onto his side to look at her.

"I did."

"But you don’t." Her smile takes on a mischievous quality. "I think you made it up."

"Quite an accusation."

“Well, I _do._ You made it up so that you could lure me in here."

"Hmm." Ben's hand wanders to her hip, where a purple mark is blossoming from his mouth before. "That makes two of us."

Confusion flashes across her pretty face. "I never said I had a fireplace."

"No. But you did say Finn was paying you to come here."

Rey falls silent. She looks so beautiful, hair damp and messy on the sheets behind her. Ben wants to lean down and kiss her again.

"I was going to tell you," she says, with unexpected regret. “But you didn't want me here in the first place. I thought you might ask me to stop coming."

“How could you possibly have…” Ben swallows, suddenly uncertain. “Was it… Did you think I wouldn't have paid you? Because I would have.” _I would have done anything to keep you here._ “You must have noticed. Chewie has been... slightly more tolerable, since you've been coming around.”

Rey sits up on her elbow, so that they’re face to face again. “Ben… I didn't keep coming here to see Chewie. I was here to see you."

When he kisses her this time, it feels less like a question he’s been asking his entire life—and more like coming home. Like she’s been waiting here for him the whole time.

_“Mrowwwww.”_

The end of the mattress dips. To his horror, Ben turns to find a blur of orange fur hurtling across the bed. His heart twists with panic—they are both wearing far too few clothes right now to be around all those claws—but it quickly becomes clear that no one’s limbs are in any great danger. In fact, when Chewie stops directly in front of Rey, he even seems to be purring—a noise Ben never expected to hear from the vicious little beast.

He doesn’t seem so vicious right now, droopy-eyed and rubbing against Rey’s hand. Ben thinks he might even notice Chewie grace him with a long blink before curling up in her lap to sleep.

Keeping her voice low, Rey treats him to a conspiratorial smirk. “Do you think he’s angry about what I said?”

“He doesn’t look very angry to me.” He also doesn't have the mental capacity to process basic speech—but Ben chooses not to share this.

Instead, he reaches out and scratches Chewie’s ear. Just to make Rey smile.

For the first time, Ben decides that he might be able to tolerate the cat after all.

Along with all the rest of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this sweet story and have very much appreciated all your kudos, comments and cat experiences along the way <3 
> 
> I'm currently wrapping up a few other projects and have some more in the works, so stay tuned.
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohwise1ne).


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